


Lover's Quarrel

by StarshipDancer



Series: Tumblr Quirrellmort Prompts [6]
Category: A Very Potter Musical Series - Team StarKid
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drunk Quirrell is a little shit, M/M, Mild Angst, Quirrell is too cute for Voldemort to handle, Tumblr Prompt, i took so long to write this prompt and i'm so sorry about that, just me writing the complete opposite of what this person probably wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 02:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19075261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarshipDancer/pseuds/StarshipDancer
Summary: Tumblr prompt: "If you keep looking at me like that, we won't make it to a bed." and "You heard me. Take. It. Off."





	Lover's Quarrel

“I can’t believe you,” Voldemort grumbled, mostly to the night but also to the lump of dead weight he was currently trying to drag back home. It was two in the fucking morning, he was _tired_ , and Quirrell was being _no help at all_.

Quite the opposite, in fact. Quirrell was doing literally everything he could to sabotage Voldemort’s attempts to get him home. He’d made Voldemort trip over seemingly nothing only for the former Dark Lord to realize that he’d tripped over _Quirrell himself_  in one of his lame attempts to escape Voldemort’s clutches.

“I literally can’t fucking believe you,” Voldemort muttered again, glaring at the adorable top of Quirrell’s head. Quirrell being, you know, _Quirrell_  made staying angry at him more than difficult, but he was sure as hell going to try. “It was a _disagreement_. We weren’t even arguing! What was the point of running out and getting so drunk that your _legs stop working_?”

“I won’t do it!” Quirrell mumbled, indignant even in his drunken haze, and flung his arm in where he though Voldemort’s face was. In reality, he’d tried to smack him with entirely the wrong arm, so he only batted wildly at the air.

Voldemort sighed. This was going to be a long fucking night, and he wasn’t in the mood for this shit.

“You won’t do what?” Voldemort pulled Quirrell up the sidewalk to their house. He tried to shift the stumbling Squirrel to one arm, but Quirrell remained entirely uncooperative. He whined and pouted when Voldemort tried to shake him off, and _wasn’t that just the cutest fucking shit ever_?

_No, Voldemort. You’ve killed countless. You were this close to ruling the world. Twice! Don’t succumb to Quirrell’s pouty face_!

“I _won’t_  fold my socks!” Quirrell exclaimed petulantly. Voldemort laughed.

“Squirrel, I never asked you to fold your socks. Hold still.” He lifted Quirrell into his arms, praying he didn’t just slump unhelpfully again.

Surprisingly, Quirrell wrapped his arms tight around Voldemort’s neck. A warm blush dusted his cheeks, and he smiled bashfully when Voldemort raised an eyebrow. “You’re so _strong_.”

Voldemort couldn’t resist leaning over to press a kiss to Quirrell’s cheek. “Let’s get you to bed, huh? How’s some sleep sound?”

Quirrell mumbled something unintelligible and rested his head on Voldemort’s shoulder. Voldemort had to pause for a moment, his heart almost uncomfortably active. There was a time when he never would’ve thought he could love somebody _this much_ , but here they were.

Having a lover’s quarrel. One of them drunk and, for the first time, it wasn’t him. He was overwhelmed by his love for Quirrell and couldn’t resist leaning down to press another kiss to his temple.

He unlocked the front door and carried Quirrell in, ignoring the incomprehensible whining Quirrell kept appealing to the curve of his neck. It was when he was turning around to kick the door shut behind him that Quirrell got louder, and he just had to ask what the hell he was trying to say.

“I _said_ ,” Quirrell said with about as much authority as a toddler, “that I _know_ how this is supposed to go. We’re supposed to be _married_ first!”

“Quirrell,” said Voldemort, trying his best to hold in his laughter. He took a moment to breathe deeply and continued, “We already _are_  married.”

“Oh!” Quirrell looked down to his wedding band, as if surprised to see it there. “Did you carry me over the threshold?”

“I did.” Voldemort started the trek towards their bedroom, recounting the finer points of their wedding night. They almost hadn’t even _made it_ upstairs. Quirrell had kept doing this smoldering bit with his eys, and Voldemort had almost abandoned the concept of the bed right there in their main hallway.

**_**If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t make it to a bed.** _ **

_Now, now, Voldemort. You promised me a wedding right out of a romance novel. I don’t remember reading one where they had sex on the stairs._

_I don’t think you’ve been reading the right kind of romance novels, Squirrel…._

 “I carried you over the threshold and all the way upstairs. Stubbed my toe on the way there. You thought it was fucking hilarious.”

“... I remember.” Quirrell was quiet for a moment. His grip around Voldemort tightened. “I don’t like fighting with you.”

“Neither do I.”

“What were we fighting about?”

Voldemort set Quirrell down on the bed and bent down to take off his shoes. He supposed he could let Sober Quirrell remember what their disagreement was, but Drunk Quirrell just looked so damn upset that Voldemort didn’t think he could hide it. He placed a soft kiss on Quirrell’s knee and stood up, shoes in hand.

“Clothes, Quirrell.”

Quirrell’s expression shifted then. He narrowed his eyes and stuck out his bottom lip before turning his face away from Voldemort. “Oh, yeah. I remember.”

Voldemort sighed. “Quirrell, we’re not going to do this again, are we?”

Quirrell didn’t say anything. Voldemort didn’t think he would. Grumbling to himself, Voldemort left Quirrell’s shoes by the door and kicked off his own as well. He could take them back downstairs in the morning; leaving Quirrell alone right now didn’t seem like a good idea. Voldemort worried that he might try to climb out the window and make his way to yet another bar. Voldemort would _not_ be cleaning Quirrell’s socks after that one.

“I’ll find you something more comfortable to wear. Take off your tie.” Voldemort headed toward the dresser, stopping when he realized Quirrell hadn’t moved. He sighed again, one of those bone-weary sighs that was probably way too dramatic for the situation. “Quirrell. ****You heard me. Take. It. Off****.”

Quirrell stared at him for a moment before removing his tie with jerky, deliberate movements and, with an air of defiance, dropped the garment right onto the floor.

“Drunk you is _such_ a bitch,” Voldemort muttered, abandoning his task to collect Quirrell’s tie from the floor. “You can act out all you want; if anybody has a reason to be angry, it’s _me_.”

He folded Quirrell’s tie and set it on top of the dresser. When he turned around with something more comfortable for Quirrell to wear, he noticed that Quirrell’s expression had shifted, grown softer. He looked like he might be sobering up some. Voldemort wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

When he sat down next to Quirrell and began to unbutton his shirt, Quirrell whispered, “You’re not.”

“I’m not what?”

“Angry.”

Voldemort shrugged. “I already told you, it was a _disagreement_. Hardly even that. I might have been a little frustrated but definitely not angry.”

“But you had that _tone_.”

“What tone!?”

“The tone you have now! That tone you get when you’re about to get angry!”

Voldemort chuckled again as he helped Quirrell out of his shirt and into a more comfortable one. “Is _that_ why you left?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You’d rather get drunk than think I’m angry at you?”

Quirrell thought for a moment before he gave a solemn nod. “ _Mm-hmm_.”

Voldemort wasn’t sure what to say to that so he simply folded Quirrell’s shirt. When he was finished, he rooted around in his brain for something that might make their lives a little easier, but he just wasn’t sure if he could find the right thing to say. Voldemort didn’t exactly have the best history to go on when it came to romantic relationships. His most meaningful fling had been with Bellatrix, and that couldn’t have been more one-sided.

With Quirrell, everything was new and really fucking scary, and this stupid argument was the evidence that Quirrell was just as scared as he was. He wasn’t alone in his fears that all of this could just fucking fall apart. That Voldemort might wake up with Bellatrix at his back and Quirrell still in Azkaban.

_Where you put him, you fucking monster_.

Quirrell’s hand appeared on top of his, and he glanced up to see Quirrell pouting again. “Your face gets really pale when you’re doing that self-loathing thing.” Still a little out of it but also still really damn perceptive.

“I’m already pale.”

“You get _paler_. What are you thinking about?”

Voldemort smiled a little. “How much I love you.”

Quirrell made a face. “ _That’s_ nothing to get pale about.”

“Let me finish.” Voldemort set Quirrell’s shirt off to the side and reached over to hold both of Quirrell’s hands. “I love you, Squirrel. But you do things that piss me off. Like not even _trying_ to toss your clothes in the hamper. But I love you. Even if I get mad at you about stupid shit like that, I’m gonna get over it. _Because_ I love you. I’m sure I do shit that pisses you off, too.”

“You’ve killed _three_ of my houseplants,” Quirrell reminded, but he was beginning to smile a bit. That was a start.

“But you got over it?” Voldemort asked hopefully. He’d slept on the couch for a week after the last plant died. Quirrell finally got tired of sleeping alone and, instead of inviting him back to their room, just crawled right on top of him on the couch. They’d both been sore as fuck afterward, but that was one of Voldemort’s favorite nights.

“Because I love you.” Quirrell scooted over so he could rest his head on Voldemort’s shoulder again, heaving a sigh that he usually saved for the worst of essays he had to grade. “I’m suh-sorry. I’ll tuh-try to put my clothes in the hamper.”

“And I’ll try not to kill any more of your plants.” Voldemort kissed his brow, hoping to ease his anxiety. “No more running away from disagreements, okay? We’ll work through them just like all the other shit we’ve been through. Okay?”

Quirrell hummed, pleased by this outcome, and nodded.

“You’re gonna remember this in the morning, right?”

“You can remind me.”

Voldemort huffed a laugh. “Yeah. I can.”

He convinced Quirrell to change into more comfortable pants and got him settled back into the bed. Thinking ahead, Voldemort took their shoes back downstairs and returned with medicine and a glass of water, which he left on the table at Quirrell’s bedside.

Quirrell’s hand reached out to grab his, and he glanced down to find big brown eyes staring up at him imploringly. He tugged once, trying to get his point across, and Voldemort bent to kiss him briefly.

“In a minute,” he promised.

Reluctantly, Quirrell let go, never taking his eyes off Voldemort as he got changed for the night. His gaze wasn’t hungry or lustful, only wanting in the simple pleasures. Warmth. Reassurance. Love.

Voldemort picked up his pace a bit. He tossed their clothes in the hamper and returned to the bed, settling in his rightful spot beside Quirrell. He expected them to sleep as usual, back to back, but Quirrell immediately rolled over to throw gangly limbs overtop of him. Quirrell nestled close to Voldemort, his nose buried in the crook of his neck, and heaved a sigh of unquestionable contentment.

Not that Voldemort would mind. Now that he actually could do it, Voldemort took every opportunity to cuddle Quirrell. He wrapped an arm around him, certain he would regret it in the morning, but hey. That was a problem for Future Voldemort (who would probably assume that Past Voldemort was nothing but an asshole and would be completely right about that).

Quirrell was burrowed so tightly that he almost didn’t hear him groggily mumble, “Are we still okay?”

“Yeah, Squirrel,” Voldemort reassured with a tired smile. “Still wonderful.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at neonganymede.tumblr.com!


End file.
